


Ashes of a War

by pillar_of_salt



Series: Dust to Dust [2]
Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24987187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pillar_of_salt/pseuds/pillar_of_salt
Summary: An alternate ending to 'Dust to Dust', in which Elizabeth Adams returns from her Baghdad assignment a little worse for wear, but very much alive. She must find a way to deal with the aftermath of the shootout, and Henry is just the person to help her.
Relationships: Elizabeth McCord/Henry McCord
Series: Dust to Dust [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1808755
Kudos: 10





	Ashes of a War

" _She's hit!_ " a voice above her shouted.

There was pain, blackness, and then a blinding light in her eyes as Dr. Cole checked her vitals. Elizabeth Adams was in a hospital bed.

"You took quite a hit, Agent Adams," Dr. Cole said. "Do you know what happened?"

"Got shot at," Elizabeth murmured. Briefly, her mind flickered back to the event with frightful and vivid clarity. It was quickly buried beneath the haze that was her current mental state. She felt drowsy and weak, but not in pain. "Where'm I?"

"You are at the Marine Corps base in Baghdad. You were on your way to the CIA base when your escort team was hit with gunfire. You sustained a gunshot wound to your side, and they brought you back here immediately. Good thing, too; you might not have made it otherwise. I operated on you two days ago, and you have been in the recovery ward ever since." He checked her vitals. "Fortunately, the injury was through-and-through, and did not hit any vital organs. Your recovery should be quite clean." He checked her morphine drip. "You're on a pretty heavy dose of painkillers at the moment, and we're going to keep it that way for the next couple of days."

"How long'll I be here?" she asked sluggishly, struggling to focus on what the doctor was telling her.

"Right now, you aren't strong enough to fly back home. I'm going to give you at least a week to recover here before we can discuss flying you home for further treatment. It's going to take some time before you can get back on your feet again," he warned, "and you absolutely cannot go back to work for at least the next four weeks; recovery could take up to eight."

 _Eight weeks in the hospital?!_ Elizabeth wanted to shout. But she was already drifting back into sleep and couldn't find the energy to demonstrate her indignation.

"I'll let you get some rest." She heard the doctor say faintly, but sleep pulled her under before he could even finish his sentence.

* * *

With no complications to interfere with her recovery, Elizabeth was flown back to the States ten days later with two nasty and heavily bandaged holes in her body, a bottle of Percocet, and strict instructions from the Medical Officer to remain on bedrest for the upcoming weeks. He had even arranged for her to be taken straight off the tarmac to Walter Reed Medical Center. She suspected those orders had come directly from Juliet, who knew full well that Elizabeth would never go of her own accord.

During the flight, Elizabeth found her mind drifting away from her, inevitably leading her back to the shootout on what should have been her last day in Baghdad. The sound of bullets peppering the side of the Jeep looped endlessly in her head, a constant soundtrack from which she could not escape. _She's hit!_ Elizabeth could hear, over and over again. _She's hit she's hit she's hit._ She looked down to see the blood pouring from her midsection, soaking her shirt, leaking onto the floor, filling the footwell, rising up, up, up . . .

She snapped back to herself, and slowly and consciously released her death grip on the armrests of her seat. Her heart was racing, she was panting, her forehead was beaded with sweat. She fought to slow her breathing and focused on bringing her heart rate down. Her abdomen throbbed. Elizabeth tried to think of happier things than the fact that she was nearly killed in a warzone.

Her injury continued to pulse with pain.

When she landed, Elizabeth was surprised to see that it was Conrad Dalton himself who had arrived at the landing strip to personally transport her to the hospital.

"Bess," he greeted her as she was wheeled off the plane. She was wheelchair-bound for the next several days. He took it upon himself to push her wheelchair toward the vehicle despite Elizabeth's assertions that she could do it herself. "Juliet told me what happened. I'm so glad to see you alive."

"Thank you, Conrad. I've gotta say, I'm surprised to see you here. I thought that someone from the hospital was supposed to come get me."

"I wanted to personally see that you got there like you are supposed to. God knows you'd try to bully some poor orderly to send you home instead of the hospital." Conrad wheeled her up to the side of the van, which had a wheelchair ramp that was already lowered and ready to receive her. "But you can't bully me."

"If you weren't my boss, I would certainly try," Elizabeth said peevishly.

Conrad loaded her up and started the car. On their way to the hospital, he lectured her pre-emptively on the importance of following her doctor's orders. " - and if you even think about stepping foot inside Langley before I receive the all-clear from your doctor, I swear to God Bess I will put you under house arrest. You need to give yourself time to recover, and that is an order. I know you, and -" he continued in this manner for the entire ride. By the end of it, Elizabeth was ready to strangle him with his own bowtie.

* * *

Not only was Elizabeth going stir crazy, she was also convinced that she was going _crazy_ -crazy. The flashbacks still continued to plague her at unexpected times during the day, just as vivid as they were on the plane and in the Marine medical ward; and her reaction to them was just as visceral and intense as before. And to add to it, she even had nightmares now. More often than not, she would be woken up by the sound of her own panic at three in the morning. Stuck in a private hospital room, at least she was the only one privy to her lingering trauma.

The nightmares were surreal.

While the flashbacks were simply an endless loop of the event itself, Elizabeth's nightmares were darker, more extensive. Sometimes she would look down at her escort team as they raced her wildly back to base, while other times she would watch them all die in the gunfire, their innards baking under the sweltering desert heat. One night, she dreamed that she'd nearly died in surgery, only to be left in the medical ward for weeks as her body slowly deteriorated from pneumonia and sepsis. The dreams were unnerving, to say the least. She didn't know how to make it stop.

She was lucky to be alive; she knew that. But after endless days in the hospital with nothing to break up the monotony, nothing to distract her from her horrid dreams and flashbacks, and with not even the promise of returning to work in the near future, it was hard to see the upside of things. She hoped that by the end of the month, her doctor would give her her blessing to get back to work full time. Since her recovery was going just as expected, Elizabeth saw this as an attainable goal.

It was just that a month seemed so damn far away.

In her interminable downtime, she thought about the handsome pilot she'd met on the base. Henry. Her friend. She reminisced over their countless conversations, and it never failed to lift her mood. She hoped he was staying alive. Elizabeth had absolutely no information about how the airstrike operation was faring overseas; for all she knew Henry could be long dead. She hoped not.

What was it he'd said to her? _I will show up for you._ Elizabeth hoped this would prove true. She missed his company.

While Elizabeth languished in the hospital, she did not get to see anyone else she knew, either. Will was abroad - in a war zone himself, no doubt; Juliet was still manning the Baghdad station; George was still on assignment somewhere in Eastern Europe. Conrad hadn't come by since dropping her off the first day.

But Isabelle, bless her soul, came to see her almost every day, often bearing good, greasy Chinese takeout, and news from Langley - the gossip kind, not the intelligence kind.

"Just so you know, I'm on strict orders from Conrad not to give you any working intel," Isabelle informed her. "And he's probably bugged me just to make sure that I stay in line."

"He's trying to punish me for almost getting myself killed!" Elizabeth complained. "I'm going to die of boredom in here."

"Sure Bess, be dramatic. Come on, it's not that bad! You've got like -" Isabelle counted it off on her fingers, "- two more weeks until you get cleared. Just suck it up!"

Elizabeth shot her a dirty look, but Isabelle was unaffected.

"So, do you wanna hear about Munsey's latest dating catastrophe or not?"

* * *

Two weeks later, Elizabeth Adams returned to Langley on a Monday morning with two nasty scars in her side and a slight limp. Her site of injury was still painful and she got winded easily from simply walking, but she couldn't be happier.

She was just settling in at her desk when Conrad approached her. "Bess! It's good to have you back."

"It's good to finally be back, sir," she said, and she had never meant anything more.

"Now that you're cleared to work, we can get you fully up to speed with the situation in the Middle East. You were the catalyst for a series of very significant military operations. Juliet told me that your work there was invaluable."

"I was glad to serve. What's the latest on the air strike campaign in Kuwait? I remember that had just been put into motion around the time that I left Baghdad."

"It was a success; it concluded a few days ago. Many of our troops will begin to return home very soon."

"Any US casualties?" Elizabeth thought back to Captain McCord. What if he -

"All fighter pilots are accounted for, but ground forces are undetermined as of yet. We'll know more in the coming days."

The tightness in Elizabeth's chest released its hold. _Henry was alive; he would be returning home._ "Well that's...that's really good to hear, sir."

Conrad smiled. "Well, I'll let you get yourself situated. Let me know if you need anything today, Bess."

"Thanks, Conrad."

* * *

On her fourth day back at work, Elizabeth was trying to push through a lengthy report when Isabelle suddenly approached her desk with girlish excitement. She grabbed the back of Elizabeth's chair and leaned down to stage-whisper in her ear with all the subtlety of an elephant.

"Bess! There's some guy here to see you. Tall. Uniformed. _Really_ hot." Isabel peeked over her shoulder surreptitiously. "He was over there asking Andrew where your desk was."

"What? What are you talking about?" Elizabeth turned her chair around fully and scanned the bullpen. Her heart skipped a beat. "Oh my god," she murmured, and giddiness bubbled up inside of her.

Henry McCord stood on the other side of the room. Tall, uniformed, and oh-so-handsome - just like she remembered him. He carried a bouquet of roses in one hand. Henry caught her eye, and the smile that lit his face was brighter than the sun.

Elizabeth rose from her desk and walked across the bullpen, trying to minimize her limp. Henry met her halfway.

"Hi," he said, and he seemed almost nervous. "So, um, these are for you." He held out the roses. "I wanted to surprise -"

But he didn't have time to finish his sentence, because Elizabeth had grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and pulled him down for a sweet kiss. And if the entire office was watching her, she couldn't even bring herself to care. Henry was alive, and he was _here!_

He dropped the flowers and gathered Elizabeth up in his arms, lifting her off the floor as they kissed.

When they broke apart, Elizabeth said, "Henry McCord, I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you." She touched his cheek affectionately. "Welcome back, Captain."

"It's good to see your face, Elizabeth," he said warmly. "I said I'd show up for you, didn't I?"

"Come on, let me buy you lunch. I was just about to take my break." She knelt down to gather the fallen roses, then grabbed Henry's hand and led him to her desk. Isabelle was still leaning up against it, and had the biggest shit-eating grin on her face. She raised an eyebrow at Elizabeth expectantly.

Elizabeth rattled off introductions dutifully. "Henry, this is Isabelle, my colleague and friend. Isabelle, this is Captain Henry McCord, a Marines Corps pilot. He was _just_ in Kuwait, like -"

"Twelve hours ago," Henry interrupted. He held out his hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Isabelle."

"Oh the pleasure is mine, Captain," Isabelle said, shaking his hand with enthusiasm. "Congratulations on Desert Storm by the way; heard it went well for us." When Henry hesitated, she elaborated, "I'm on the Middle East desk like Bess; I know everything." She pointed between Henry and Elizabeth. "I suppose you two met while she was in Baghdad?"

"We did," Henry said.

But Elizabeth was still trying to work through the other thing he said. "Wait, twelve hours - did you come _straight_ here from Kuwait?!" She held up her hand to halt his response. "Never mind. We can talk about this over lunch." She placed the Henry's roses in an empty travel thermos on the corner of her desk. She grinned at her two friends. "They look nice like this, don't you think?"

"Very office-chic," Isabelle said wryly. She pulled Elizabeth's purse from the bottom drawer and handed it to her. "Now go on! I'm sure you two have a lot of catching up to do. Take a long lunch, Bess."

As she turned to go, Isabelle grabbed her arm and pulled her close again. In her ear, she murmured, "And you owe me a _very_ detailed story about Baghdad when you get back. Somehow, you left out this Captain McCord from _all_ of our conversations." She raised an accusing eyebrow.

Elizabeth at least had the decency to look chagrined. "Promise. Drinks on me. Tomorrow."

"I accept. Now go!"

Elizabeth turned and hooked her arm with Henry's as she led him out of the bullpen.

* * *

"So twelve hours ago, you were in Kuwait," Elizabeth said. They sat in a small cafe just a few minutes' drive from the CIA headquarters.

"Yes ma'am. Landed, sent my things to the base, came straight here. I wanted to see you again," Henry said easily.

"You're too sweet, Captain," she teased him, "and I am honored. Does your family know that you're back? They must be so excited."

He grinned. "They don't know yet. I'm planning to go up to Pittsburgh this weekend to surprise them."

Elizabeth could have melted. "That's wonderful, Henry."

"But how have you been? You look good." He drank her in, as if to make up for the weeks he'd gone without looking at her.

"I'm working again, so I guess I can't really complain. Ever since the shooting it's just been-"

"Shooting?" Henry interrupted.

 _Shit. Nice going, Elizabeth._ "Oh, I - I thought you would have heard about that." She said nervously.

"Heard about what? What happened?"

Elizabeth sighed. "There was a shootout just outside the base on what should have been my last day in Baghdad. My escort team and I got caught in the gunfire." Under the table, Elizabeth's fingers brushed over her side absentmindedly, feeling the grooves of her scar tissue under her shirt.

"You got hurt." It was a statement; not a question. "That's why you're limping. I . . . I just thought it might just be a running injury or something." He looked stricken.

"I got hurt," she confirmed. "I had to spend some extra time in the medical ward before they would let me go home. Your Baghdad Medical Officer is quite strict."

"Where were you hit?"

"Went in here; came out here," she said, gesturing to each site of injury. "It was a through and through; no splintering, no organ-puncturing. As clean as a gunshot could be. I was lucky," she said gently.

"You could have died," he said roughly.

"But I didn't."

Henry rubbed his face. Suddenly, he looked weary; worn. "I heard about the incident. Someone mentioned that there had been another ambush at the Baghdad station. I just didn't realize you were involved. I didn't imagine . . . I thought you would have been on a plane home by then. My God, Elizabeth . . . you could have _died_ ," he repeated.

"Hey, hey," she said, tugging at his hand. She wrapped it in both of hers, trying to provide him with some small comfort. "Don't freak out on me, Henry. I'm here, right? I'm fine. I look good, even," she teased, throwing his own words back at him.

Henry managed a small smile. "You _do_ look good," he said.

Elizabeth grinned. "See? I promise I'm fine! Come on, let's talk about something happy!" she said, and quickly changed the subject. "Where are you living now that you're back in country? Planning on being close to family?"

Henry went along with it. "No; I'm living at base housing quarters in Arlington for the moment. I still have some things to wrap up before I can retire from the service, so I'll be in town for the next few months, at least."

He would be close by for awhile. Arlington was just twenty minutes away from where her own apartment was. _Something to look forward to,_ Elizabeth thought. "Do you have plans for after retirement?"

"I do, actually. I'm going back to UVA to work on my doctorate in Religious Studies in the fall. I have a good bit of time to look for an apartment down in that area before then."

"Oh, Henry that's wonderful! I'll actually be there too," she said excitedly. "How crazy is that?"

"Really?"

"Yep! I've been planning on going back for awhile for my PhD in Political Science, but what with the war and everything, it was difficult to get the Company to transfer me away from headquarters so that I could work a little closer to UVA." She shrugged. "But now that I've nearly gotten myself killed for them, they've finally had to approve my transfer request. I'm starting in the fall, just like you."

"That's insane; congratulations Elizabeth!" Henry said. "It'll be nice to see a friendly face on campus."

"Absolutely. Maybe we can arrange to uphold our traditional 'dinner dates' every now and then. I've missed them," she admitted.

"I have too. It'll be just like old times, huh?"

"Just like old times."

* * *

After lunch, Henry grabbed a cab to take him back to base and Elizabeth returned to the office. She was in high spirits. They had made plans to meet up again once Henry returned from Pittsburgh.

"I'd like to take you out to dinner," he'd said, "Somewhere nicer than the MCB mess hall."

There was no way Elizabeth could say no to that. "It's a date."

Once the work day came to a close, Elizabeth headed home to her empty apartment. She prepared a somewhat-edible dinner for herself, and then tried to read through the rest of the report from today. She puttered around the apartment. She flipped aimlessly through television channels. She cleaned random things. The hour grew later and later, but she couldn't bring herself to go to sleep when she knew that she would just be plagued by nightmares. So far it had happened every night this week, and the lack of sleep would catch up to her soon. She flopped down on the couch and flipped through the television channels again. Slowly, despite her best efforts, she drifted off to sleep.

Suddenly, she was looking down on her own body in the operating theater. Her midsection was pulled open, her insides exposed to the cold air of the room. Two people towered over her prone form and used shiny steel instruments to prod and lift her organs one by one. Meanwhile, blood spurted continuously from the gunshot wound in her side, pooling on the floor beneath her. No one took notice.

 _Look!_ She wanted to scream. _Do something!_

The vitals monitor began to stutter. "Shit. We're losing her." The surgeon said. They both stepped back from her body and watched quietly. The monitor beeped incessantly. Elizabeth looked on as blood continued to flow out of her body, and then as her organs began to blacken and shrivel, and then as maggots materialized out of nowhere and began to crawl over her insides . . .

Elizabeth woke with a gasp, clutching her midsection protectively. The apartment was silent but for the low-volume murmur of the television. She didn't even remember falling asleep.

She drew deep, calming breaths. _Just a dream. Just a dream._

She stayed awake for the rest of the night.

* * *

After work on Friday, Elizabeth found herself at the bar with Isabelle, who grilled her on everything Henry-related.

Three drinks in, Isabelle asked, "So have you fucked him yet?"

Elizabeth choked on her drink. "Isabelle, Jesus!"

"Well have you?"

"We were on a military base in the middle of a warzone! I was a little busy interrogating terrorists! Where do you think we would've found the opportunity to-"

"But you want to, right?" Isabelle waved her hand dismissively. "Of course you do; look at the man."

"I can't even . . . I don't know what . . . We're just friends!" Elizabeth sputtered.

Isabelle wasn't buying it. "Bess, he came straight out of a warzone and directly to your workplace to see _you_ \- didn't stop to go home, didn't stop to see his family, barely stopped to unpack his things. You have him wrapped around your finger." She took a sip of her drink. "And I saw the way he looked at you after you kissed him senseless in front of your _entire office_."

"What? What look?" Elizabeth asked exasperatedly.

"Look, it's like this. From what you're telling me, Captain McCord very much likes and respects you as a person, and I also bet that after working with you for all those weeks he probably also holds you in high esteem as a professional - because who doesn't. But the way he looked at you - he also wants to fuck your brains out," Isabelle said primly.

Elizabeth covered her face with her hands. Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment as Isabelle cackled uncontrollably. "Why are you like this," Elizabeth moaned.

* * *

Elizabeth stumbled into her apartment later that night, having taken a cab home from the bar. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had this much to drink. She bolted the door as she simultaneously kicked off her shoes, and shed her clothes on the way to her bedroom. She collapsed onto the bed and, for the first time in weeks, fell into a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.

* * *

Henry called her the following Tuesday to tell her that he was back in town, and could he take her out for dinner tomorrow?

"I'd love to," she said.

"Great, I'm glad you said that because I've already made dinner reservations for 7pm tomorrow," he told her cheerfully. "I can't wait to see you."

By the time he knocked on her door on the evening of their date, Elizabeth was giddy with the excitement of seeing him again. She threw the door open. "Hi," she said.

Henry stared at her. "Wow." He said. She was wrapped in a long-sleeved, form-fitting navy dress with a short hem and delicate neckline. He couldn't stop staring. "You are stunning."

"You're not so bad yourself, Captain," she said, admiring the sight of him in a suit. She leaned forward to straighten his tie, and he used it as an opportunity to capture her chin and give her a lingering, indulgent kiss.

"Missed you," he said softly.

She smiled. "Missed you."

* * *

At dinner, Elizabeth admitted to him that she'd been trouble sleeping since returning from Baghdad.

"I mean, intellectually, I know that it's over for me; I got out of the war zone; I'm alive. But for some reason I just can't stop dreaming about it," she admitted.

"Well," Henry said, "I think that seems like a fairly normal response. Anyone who's gone through what you've gone through would have nightmares about it."

"I should be able to get past it. I mean, I didn't die, and neither did anyone else. This isn't some survivor's guilt complex. It's not . . . It's not anything. I _should_ be able to move on. I'm just . . ." she sighed. "I don't know. I'm tired. The dreams keep me up."

"Maybe I could stay with you," he offered carefully. "It helps not to be alone when you're struggling with nightmares. Sometimes all you need is to know that someone is close by."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

Henry raised his hands. "No funny business, I swear! I don't like to see you struggling, and I don't want you to have to be alone," he said earnestly. "I just want to help - as a friend."

Elizabeth considered him. "I suppose . . ." she said slowly, "that that would be alright. As a friend," she repeated. She didn't know what this was between her and Henry, but she didn't want to rush into anything prematurely and risk losing his friendship altogether.

"As a friend," he confirmed.

* * *

After dinner, Henry drove back to Elizabeth's apartment and went up with her.

"Just make yourself at home," she said, and went in search of amenities for him. She turned up with a spare toothbrush and a spare set of clothes that she was sure would fit Henry. They had belonged to a previous boyfriend of hers from UVA, and she'd never bothered to return them after they had broken up. Henry didn't need to know that, though. She handed the pile to him.

"Thank you."

"I don't have a guest room," she began.

"The couch is fine," he said easily.

"Um . . . let me go get you some sheets." She disappeared again. Why was she so nervous?

She returned to the living area with a stack of linens and a pillow, and Henry helped her to make up the couch.

"Well if you need anything . . ."

"Hey, don't worry about me." Henry smiled, and then kissed her sweetly on the lips. "I'll be here. Good night, Elizabeth."

She smiled, and leaned it to kiss him again. "Thank you for this. Good night, Henry."

* * *

In the middle of the night, Elizabeth woke up gasping again, snapped out of a nightmare, unable to catch her breath.

Henry appeared in her doorway. He came in and sat next to her on the bed as she heaved, wrapping an arm around her and rubbing soothing circles into her back. He murmured words of comfort that she couldn't hear over the pounding in her ears.

When she finally calmed down enough to breathe normally, Henry left the room. He returned a few moments later with a steaming mug of tea. "Hope you don't mind that I went snooping around your kitchen," he said, putting the mug in her hands. "Drink this, it'll help."

Elizabeth took tiny sips as she focused on bringing her heart rate back down. Henry sat with her and rubbed her back as she finished off her tea.

"Thank you," she said softly, breaking the silence. "You're right. It helps not to be alone."

He took the mug out of her hands and set it on the nightstand. "Do you think you can go back to sleep?" She nodded. "Good. I'll be out there if you need anything." Henry got up to leave when Elizabeth grabbed his arm.

"Will . . . will you stay here with me?" she asked timidly.

Henry smiled. "Of course."

Elizabeth lifted the covers for him and he climbed in next to her. She turned to lay on her side and he curled an arm around her from behind.

"Is this alright?"

"This is perfect," she murmured. As she drifted off to sleep, Elizabeth realized that she felt at peace for the first time in weeks. It would all be okay. _She_ would be okay.


End file.
